


for your works are exalted and my soul knows it well

by blanchtt



Category: The Power - Naomi Alderman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 23:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: Roxy slips out of the water, palms down on the ledge of the rock and hauling herself up, and Allie keeps her gaze level, never lets it slip below, to the musculature of Roxy’s arms, to the water that runs off her in drops and rivulets.Dangerous, in any other situation.What if, Allie thinks, like a million other girls and boys now, but puts that thought away.





	for your works are exalted and my soul knows it well

**Author's Note:**

> This book didn't have enough lesbians in it, so I fixed that.

_Ten years to go_

_-_

 

 

 

Roxy slips out of the water, palms down on the ledge of the rock and hauling herself up, and Allie keeps her gaze level, never lets it slip below, to the musculature of Roxy’s arms, to the water that runs off her in drops and rivulets.

 

Dangerous, in any other situation.

 

 _What if_ , Allie thinks, like a million other girls and boys do now, but puts that thought away.

 

“It’s bloody freezing out here,” Roxy says, and chances a smile. “Yours or mine?”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

She has a few of the scriptures in mind—the ones that the Montgomery-Taylor’s pastor would repeat a few too many times during service or the ones that Mr. Montgomery-Taylor would recite over her.

 

She starts with those.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

_The Mother makes firm the steps of the one who delights in Her; though she may stumble, she will not fall, for the Mother upholds her with Her palms._

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

It does not take very long at all.  _Mother Eve_ becomes just _Eve_ , and Allie lets her.

 

 _Seriously?_ the voice says, disappointed but not surprised. For once, Allie ignores it.

 

“Whether thou goest, I shall go,” Allie breathes, late at night. They’re in the same bed, the same way some of the other girls are, but they’ve got the pleasure of privacy, of her own room to themselves.

 

Well, Allie thinks, and the voice agrees _—someone’s_ got to sit at the head of the table.

 

Roxy nods sleepily, a thumb smoothing over her palm.

 

“And your God will be my God.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

_Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my palms with light; my power runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Mother forever._

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

She watches Roxy spar with the others. She keeps a smile on her face—she’s not here to be a drill sergeant.

 

“Good, good,” she croons to the girls, and lets Roxy play the part of the soldier that she’s meant to, nudging the other girls’ elbows up a little higher or telling them to move this foot that way to avoid being unbalanced.

 

The way Roxy moves is and is not the way she moves when they’re together alone. There is the quick, crooked smile; the sharp wit and the shifting eyes; the curve of a bicep as she deflects an arc of electricity—everything that translates into someone that instinct tells you you wouldn’t want to fight.

 

But when she has Roxy and Roxy has her, there’s something else, a pleasant, humming spark Allie feels with no one else, that makes it easy to hold her and let herself be held, to kiss with brushing lips the skein that hums with power unrivaled, just below her collarbone, to lay her palms flat against Roxy and feel a different kind of electricity linger in her touch.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

When Roxy leaves, she knows it is necessary.

 

Still, Allie says, _I don’t want her to go. Can we stop that happening?_

 

The voice says to Allie, _Remember, sweetheart, the only way you’re safe is if you own the place._

 

And so they part with a kiss, Roxy heading into the crowded airport, leaving Allie on the other side of the barrier that sepreates people leaving from people staying.

 

Allie waits, heart in her throat, and when Roxy gets past that metal detector, past the narrowing off the corridor that means it’ll get harder and harder to see her, she turns and waves, and Allie smiles back, waves too, and the voice, giving her her moment, finally says, _Now, let’s get back to business._

 

 

 

-

 

 

_And we know that for those who love the Mother all things work together for good, for those who are called according to her purpose._

 

 

 

 

 

_Five years to go_

_-_

 

 

There is a follower, a woman from a big city who’s started her own shop, women-artists only. Allie goes to see her, walks in like any other customer, pays like any other customer, lets others watch like any other customer. Mother Eve is not the pope, ensconced in a city of marble and art, untouchable.

 

It hurts like hell, but she and the woman speak and laugh and take breaks through it, and eventually Allie is able to walk away, to turn her palms up, to see the eyes of Fatima there, etched into her skin.

 

She does it for herself, because she’s always wanted a tattoo, alright? But it doesn’t hurt Mother Eve’s image that other girls and woman, young and old around the world, flush with the power, begin to follow suit.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Time flies, the following of believers grows, and she finds herself in Bessapara, meeting Tatiana Moskalev.

 

Tatiana is attractive in a severe way that speaks of the beauty of the Caucus mountains, but all Allie thinks of is scruffy Roxy, who she has only texted since last they saw.

 

“We need a fast victory, Mother Eve,” Tatiana says, all business, the tilt of her head implying what she doesn’t say—we need your sanction for this holy way—and for all the miracles that she’s performed Allie wonders if this is the one that’s the first real test. Her Red Sea, if you will. If Moses got them all swept away alongside the Egyptians, no amount of PR in the world could have helped him.

 

 _You’ll never get there from here_ , the voice offers, and Allie agrees.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

_Children are indeed a heritage from the Mother, and the fruit of the womb is Her reward. Like arcs of light in the palms of a warrior, so are girls born in one’s youth. Blessed is the woman whose quiver is full of them. She will not be put to shame when she confronts the enemies at the gate._

 

 

 

 

 

 

_One year to go_

 

 

 

Time passes as it does, and their texts grow more or less frequent based on where they are, what they’re doing, who they’re with. But when Roxy drops off the face of the world and fails to respond to three texts in a row, Allie grows worried.

 

She feels a tightness in her skein, and shakes the very idea off.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Women greet each other, palm to palm, a universal language that crosses borders and tongues, backs unbowed, loud, joyful.

 

In Bessapara, males may no longer move about without a female guardian, and other countries eye it, a model to follow.

 

In China and India, a flood of newborn baby girls continues to sweep the country’s hospitals, unrelenting, a tide  _growing_ in number each year since the Day of the Girl.

 

In Latin America, prisons are freed of political prisoners, sent there by men and betrayed by their own bodies, and those who truly belong there take the their places.

 

Allie watches it all with the pride of a mother, child grown and successful, but most of all, happy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Can’t be more than seven months left_

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Roxy steps out of the train and onto the platform, and Allie keeps her paces even though she longers to run toward her.

 

She does allow herself to indulge, to gather and be gathered, for Roxy’s arms to wrap around her, for Allie to lay her head against her shoulder, face in the hollow of her neck, breathing in her scent. It hasn’t changed, though Roxy looks more tired, and the punk streak of pink in her blonde hair is long, long gone.

 

“You are my sign,” Allie whispers, and Roxy’s hand curls against her back, soothing. “Just as you always were. The Mother's favor is with me.”

 

Later, after they've undressed and found each others' bodies the same, changed, desire unchanged, they lie in momentary silence, breathing returning to normal. It's then that, Roxy's scar too large to ignore, taut and white like lightning, that Allie broaches the subject.

 

“Do you want to make peace?” Allie asks, entwined together, the taste of Roxy on her lips and fingers. 

 

Roxy goes still, rigid almost, and Allie hopes, heart beating thickly—thinks of the U-shaped scar below Roxy’s collarbone, the still-healing skein. Man. Always the usurper. We sure showed him this time, though.

 

“No,” Roxy says finally, freely and after much thought, and Allie smiles, feels it grow as Roxy reaches out, tugs at a ringlet playfully.

 

“Enough with the bloody interrogation now though, _Mother_ Eve,” Roxy chides, and Allie puts Mother Eve aside, settles into just Eve, like no one except Roxy knows her.

 

It’s been long enough since they’ve last seen each other. She deserves it. And in the morning, there will be time enough to discuss the flood that will surely follow the storm.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

_The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; the Mother has come so that woman may have life, and have it to the full._

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Here it comes_

 

 

-

 

 

 

She thinks of the snake, that snake that offered up knowledge to Eve, who aided her. Selfishly, yes. But in the end, it worked out all right, didn’t it? Because this time, God is on her side and there is no Adam to push her.

 

There is much work left to do, Allie knows. But this time, with the groundwork laid, neither of them has to be so damned far away. Mother Eve is untouchable now.

 

 _Thanks_ , she tells the voice, and kisses Roxy goodbye just for the morning before leaving to meet with the Bessaparian Senate.

 

 _What’d I tell you, honeybun_ , the voice says. _I said I’d take care of you._

 

And so Mother Eve takes the Soldier by her side quietly, or the Soldier takes Mother Eve by hers—either way you look at it with new eyes, it means something. And the following continues to grow, for this and other reasons, as each girl and woman discovers what's been in her all along and the Cataclysm washes the world clean.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

_Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Mother your god will be with you wherever you go._

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
